The Raven A Variation
by YokaiFireMage
Summary: I put in Edgar Allen Poe's original poem if someone's never read "The Raven." The next part is my own writing from the Raven's point of view


For those who have never read Edgar Allen Poe:

_The Raven_

_Published in 1845_

_By; Edgar Allen Poe_

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,  
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,  
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -  
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,  
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow  
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -  
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -  
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -  
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -  
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,  
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;  
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,  
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,  
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -  
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before  
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'  
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'  
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,  
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.  
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;  
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -  
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -  
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,  
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.  
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;  
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -  
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -  
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,  
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,  
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.  
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -  
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'  
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,  
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;  
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being  
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -  
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,  
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,  
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.  
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -  
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -  
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'  
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,  
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,  
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster  
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -  
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore  
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,  
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;  
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking  
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -  
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore  
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing  
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;  
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining  
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,  
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,  
_She_ shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer  
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.  
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee  
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!  
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'  
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -  
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,  
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -  
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -  
Is there - _is_ there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'  
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!  
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'  
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -  
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!  
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!  
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!  
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'  
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;  
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

_Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven:" The Raven's View_

_By; Melyssa S. Ryan_

The bust I chose for my seating, was old and cold and worn as any

I would gaze upon this man with sympathy if I had it still

But I am an old Raven gone, my sympathy has been replaced

This man called Edgar Allen Poe; He is to be one that would mill

For my employer made it so, to distress this man like a till

Am I to ever have my fill?

This man called Edgar Allen Poe, Did speak to me of my purpose

I could not help a chuckle I; I could see his dear Lenore there

She was only a spirit there to me, to Poe would ever know

I doubt he saw her in the room, a fair pristine girl, like a mare

It almost grieved me so very much, to torture this man so close there

Is this more than I can dare bear? 

Lenore, that ghostly pretty girl. Has her obvious love of Poe…

Softened this carrier of fate? Nay it cannot be so sad

Perhaps I have fallen for her? Perhaps I do not wish her harm

I am a bird however now; I must break this much weakened lad

But still she is there again now, cannot she be left this is bad

I shall be reduced to my rags

I grew ever angry at her; I am not so weak to beat

Is that to say I have no love, nay I once loved though it was short

Human I was and foolish I, to let woman rule my life

This body is the result see; I went from free-man to court

Feelings what need have I for them, ruined me they I know the sort

Love to me is now a wart

Still I could not crush this man Poe, Lenore prevented him that fate

With angry jest I ruffled then, and squawked but once at my prey

Flew away then did I Lenore, to spite you most of all I did

Who are you to restrain me so, runaway from you if I may

Lenore you hold no power here, try to and there a price to pay

I am raven here stay you way


End file.
